Haunted by Ill Angels
by Insaniiity
Summary: AU. When Voldemort visits the Potters on that fateful Halloween night, things do not go as expected, and the destiny of two equals is altered forever. But will Voldemort accept the power that this strange boy holds over him, or will he snap? HPLV
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: As sad as it may seem, I do not own anything recognizable. It all belongs to other people. The characters, settings, etc. belong to JKR. The title of this story is taken from Edgar Allan Poe's poem, Dreamland. The plot is, as far as I am aware, my own.

And a huge thanks to Archangelraphaelsdaughter (henceforth referred to as 'Dray') for being my beta - that is, for keeping me in line and on topic

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Haunted by Ill Angels

Prologue

The night was frosty, the wind howling as it swayed the branches of trees. The few children still trick-or-treating pulled their coats tighter around their small bodies. Parents hurried the children, ushering them home before it became too dark to see. If they had truly looked, they would have noticed the two adults who were not out with children on that Halloween night. Someone looking closely would have noticed that one of those men was over a foot shorter than the other, and that this young man – for he could not be over 25 – possessed many rat-like features; he gazed with beady eyes up at his companion, his hands rubbing together nervously. The other man, the taller of the two, was even more inconspicuous. Certainly no one noticed the pallor of his skin, the short dark hair. Even his eyes, an unnatural red, went unnoticed. He had an ageless quality to him, as if he had not aged a day over thirty, despite the endless knowledge that his demonic eyes possessed. As they walked by, the muggles never even noticed the strange robes that the two men wore; dark and billowing in the wind. But no one could deny, as they walked by the empty lot where a house _should_ have been, that they felt as if they were being watched; that some ill angel was haunting them.

The wind blew harshly, and the cloaks of the two men snapped around their ankles. A sign nearby rattled on its post, declaring the town's name to those who sought it. _Godric's Hollow_. The two watched the house before them, revealed only because the rat man had known the Secret. The howling increased, and the smaller of the two had to strain his ears when the taller spoke.

"You have served your master well, Wormtail."

The young man – Wormtail – was so overjoyed by the praise from his master, so rarely given, that he didn't notice the other man moving up the steps toward the house. He rushed forward, nearly bumping into his master when the man stopped abruptly, sneering at the door.

"Lily – take Harry – up to the nursery!" a male voice shouted from behind the door – James, Wormtail thought sadly, for some part of him still held his childhood friend close in his heart. _But not too close_, the small voice in the back of his head spat bitterly. He didn't even notice when his master blasted open the door; all he knew was that he was there, and James was there, staring at him in horror – he wasn't even looking at Wormtail's lord; he saw right past the tall man, through him, seeing only the friend who was more a rat than a man.

"Peter-" James began, but his sentence broke off when he finally noticed the threatening man staring down at him. "_Voldemort_."

"Y-you will n-n-not speak about my l-l-lord that w-way," Wormtail stuttered, cowed by the accusing glance of his once-worshipped friend.

James' attention returned to his Secret Keeper. "Peter, you-"

"Enough!" shouted Voldemort, his patience disappearing as quickly as his wand was raised. "_Avada Kedavra._"

Wormtail stared, horrified, as the man he once idolized crumpled to the floor, lifeless eyes staring at the short man in betrayal. He swallowed thickly, forgetting his master, who was sneering at him imperiously. He never even noticed as the wand was pointed at _him_, as the words for the killing curse formed themselves on the man's thin lips once more.

The last thing Wormtail saw was a green light identical to that which had taken his friend's life.

Lord Voldemort gazed unconcernedly at the body of Wormtail. The man had been no use to him after sharing the Potters' Secret. The man knew that the rat stayed by his Lord's side out of fear, and not reverence. What use was a wizard so pitiful? He was a vermin, worth as much as his pathetic little name.

The words of the prophecy that led him to work with the rat brought him back to the present, and he looked up from the motionless bodies and toward the stairs. In this house, only a breath away, the child who could defeat him was waiting to die.

_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches..._

_Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies..._

The Dark Lord continued up the stairs of the small home, his robes billowing imperiously about him as he stalked through the hall of the second floor. He followed the sound of breathing; his senses heightened exponentially due to the many rituals he had undergone to create his perfect body. He broke the wards on the door with ease, blasting the wood away with a flick of his wand. A bit much, perhaps, but Voldemort had always had a flare for the dramatics. Stepping over the wooden shards of what was once the nursery door, the man crossed the threshold, finding himself face to face with a very distressed Lily Potter.

"Step aside, woman," Voldemort demanded coldly, lifting his left hand to point his wand at the Mudblood.

The woman stood stubbornly in front of the infant, her arms raised to either side in a defensive manner. "Not my Harry; not my baby boy," she pleaded, her eyes watering hopelessly. Her green eyes shone with her distress as she stared into the face of the greatest Dark Lord of the century.

"Your life does not have to be sacrificed," he said, offering a gift to her that no other had received before; a gift offered to her because one of his most trusted men had asked it of him. Her life was a reward to Severus Snape for delivering such crucial information. If this woman was too stupid to accept something so treasured, that was her problem, not his.

"No, not Harry," she pleaded, tears streaming down her cheeks now.

"I will only offer this one more time," he said impatiently, his anger becoming evident in his elegant features, "step aside or die."

The woman was shaking her head desperately, trying to shield her one-year-old son however she could. She turned, scooping up her boy and cradling him to her chest as she attempted to run.

"_Avada Kedavra_," Voldemort said dispassionately. The woman had had her chance. He looked down at the woman coldly. He didn't understand why Severus had wanted her life spared. He could admit that the woman had some redeeming qualities – he could see someone as _human_ as Severus falling into those eyes, for instance – but her annoying stubbornness was enough to dissuade such petty feelings.

He turned away from the woman, lifting his wand to the dark-haired babe. His lips curled into a sneer as he faced the child who could have destroyed him.

"_Avada Kedav-_"

He wasn't sure what stilled his words. Perhaps it was the untapped power that resonated around the child's body; or maybe it was the fact that the boy's eyes were more aware than they had any right to be for someone so young. They pulled him in, and Voldemort started when he caught himself staring into them. But the child didn't cry as he gazed into the Dark Lord's crimson eyes – and that, he thought, was what really gave him pause. The boy – Harry, he recalled distantly – was quiet as he gazed up at the man. Despite the fact that the child was still in his dead mother's embrace, despite the fact that those emerald eyes _knew_ things that no infant should be able to comprehend, the damned child was just sitting there, looking at the man who had murdered his parents not minutes before; and the boy was _smiling_, and for just an instant, Lord Voldemort ceased to exist; replaced for some small amount of time by Tom Riddle Jr.

Against his screaming instincts, Lord Voldemort crouched down so that he was eye-level with the babe. He wasn't sure when he had stowed his wand, but he noticed then that the hand he reached out to the boy definitely _wasn't_ holding the familiar 13 ½ inches of yew. And then the Dark Lord realized that the boy was reaching back, his own small arm straightening out as his petite right hand grasped onto Voldemort's larger left—

—And in the span of a heartbeat, the magic swirling around the two wizards converged on them; centered where their skin connected, and it was endless agony. Voldemort cried out in pain the same as young Harry did, ripping his hand away from the tiny fingers that grasped it. He felt like his hand was burning, and he cradled it delicately; an action that would have meant instant death to any who witnessed it.

The boy was crying now; an appropriate reaction for the events of the night, but still annoying, and Voldemort decided that he had lingered long enough. He had spent more than enough time losing his mind around this infant, and could stand it no longer. He would go insane around the boy, he knew, for already he had done many things that he would not otherwise dream of. He stood, burning hand forgotten, and glided from the room, down the stairs, out the house. He paid no mind to the bodies on the floor as he passed them, knowing full well that they had deserved their deaths, facing someone as great as Lord Voldemort and expecting to survive. Besides, the Order would be arriving soon, he was sure, and he hadn't left his message yet.

Voldemort lifted his wand into the air with his right hand, his gaze focused on the palm of his left. His voice was devoid of any feeling as he murmured, "_Morsmordre,_" sending the green sparks into the sky to form the skull and snake, the Dark Mark. He was still staring at his burned hand as he apparated away, rare fascination etched on his features.

The magic had burned a mark in the shape of a lightning bolt into the skin of his palm.

**~Haunted by Ill Angels~**

"_Expelliarmus_," Sirius Black shouted, waving his wand with a flourish at his cousin.

"_Crucio_," Bellatrix Lestrange volleyed as she dove behind an armchair in the Longbottoms' residence.

"You'll have to do better than that, Bella," Sirius taunted, a lopsided grin on his face as he dodged the Unforgiveable. "You call yourself a Death Eater? Death Nibbler is more like it." Despite his easy banter, his gray eyes were hard, betraying his true anger.

Bellatrix screamed angrily; forgoing the spell and diving at her cousin, teeth bared and long fingernails sharpened to claws.

Sirius dove out of the way, his body shifting as it lost its human form, only to be replaced by a great black dog. The dog, resembling a Grim, bared its fangs at the woman who was now holding him at wandpoint. A guttural growl escaped its maw as it stalked toward the woman, its ears pressed back against its head and its hackles raised. For a moment, the Death Eater hesitated, and the dog took its chance; lunging forward and using its massive size to pin the woman to the ground. It snapped its teeth together inches from Bellatrix's face, and she growled right back at it, her insanity showing itself at last.

"That's quite enough, Sirius," an elderly voice said from the doorway, before a light flashed and the woman became quite still. "Alice and Frank are safe now; they'll recover quite nicely."

The dog nodded, moving from the woman and shifting back into Sirius Black before the old man in the doorway could blink.

"The Aurors have already been alerted and are on their way," the old man said cheerily as he walked over to Sirius, his gaze never leaving the unconscious form of Bellatrix.

Sirius' eyes followed the man as he neared, a true smile dancing on his lips. "Headmaster, let's-"

"Sirius, please," the man interrupted, blue eyes twinkling merrily, "such formalities are behind us."

"Albus, then," Sirius said, tongue tripping on the name a little. Albus Dumbledore had been the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for as long as Sirius could remember, and certainly for the entirety of Sirius' stay at the school. Referring to the man as anything else was foreign to him, but even he could admit that it was refreshing to know that the Light's beacon of hope wished to be treated as a friend, and not revered.

Dumbledore smiled at the young man, and he ran a hand down his long silver beard as he walked past Sirius to take a closer look at the woman on the floor. He made several disappointed sounds, murmuring nonsense words about how he wished things could have turned out differently for Sirius' cousin, but the young man wasn't really listening. Something didn't feel right – something felt incredibly wrong.

"A-Albus," he began, but his former Headmaster held up a gnarled hand, his own merry smile completely gone.

"Godric's Hollow," Dumbledore murmured, blue eyes suddenly very dark.

"I-what?"

"We must leave, _now_," the Headmaster urged, ushering Sirius out of the house. "I believe the Potters are in grave danger."

But it wasn't just a belief – far from it; it was a certainty. Albus had placed the Fidelius Charm on the Potter house in Godric's Hollow himself; and now he felt the familiar pull of magic, telling him that something had gone wrong, that the Fidelius had been broken, that somehow the Secret was no longer kept.

"But, Peter-"

"Never mind that," Dumbledore interrupted. He turned abruptly, facing Sirius. He held out an arm to the young man, commanding, "Take my arm."

Sirius did so, without question, and soon he found himself staring at the one thing he feared most.

The Dark Mark hung over his best friend's house, a banner of death.

**~Haunted by Ill Angels~**

Albus rushed toward the house, his own great age forgotten as he ran up the steps, through the gaping front door. He stopped, staring with no small amount of despair at the bodies of James Potter and Peter Pettigrew. He didn't miss the accusing look frozen on James' face, and crouched down next to Peter, a gnarled hand moving to push back the left sleeve of the man's cloak. He was not completely surprised to see the Dark Mark tattooed on the young man's arm, but he was saddened. Poor little Peter, abandoning his friends when they needed him most...

A gasp in the doorway brought Albus back to the present, and he turned to see Sirius, eyes wide and jaw hanging open.

"He-James-Wormtail-_why_?" he babbled helplessly, feet moving him toward the bodies of two of his closest friends.

"That is less important right now, Sirius," Albus said sadly, "than the fate of the rest of the Potter family."

Thoughts of his godson snapped Sirius back into focus, and he dashed ahead of Albus and up the stairs, taking the steps three at a time. Albus followed at a more leisurely pace, although the circumstances were anything but. Already he could hear the soft whimpering of young Harry, and knew that all hope was not lost. Voldemort may still be at large, but the Light now had its Champion.

The Headmaster of Hogwarts rounded the last corner and saw the young dog animagus huddled over something very small, the young figure cradled in his arms as it cradled its right hand against its chest. Albus tutted when he saw Lily Potter's body on the floor, knowing that Sirius was the only family young Harry had left. _Barring those Muggle relatives, of course_, he thought, but as long as Sirius was there, he had no need to send the poor boy to that family. They were the worst sort of muggle, he knew; the kind that inspired the disgusting prejudices that many wizards possessed.

"He will have to be hidden away," Albus murmured, startling Sirius enough to make the man jump, jarring Harry and causing the boy to whimper a bit louder.

Sighing sadly, Albus moved towards the two, reaching a hand out and gently taking the infant's injured one, smoothing out the tiny hand and blinking at the palm. Looking at the boy's petite appendage, Albus knew that he was, in fact, the child prophesised as the one with the power to vanquish Tom Riddle. _And the Dark Lord will mark him as equal, indeed,_ thought Albus as he rubbed a gnarled thumb over the boy's injured palm. The mark was unmistakeable, and although Albus was unsure as to how it was obtained, he knew that great things were destined for Harry Potter.

On the boy's small hand rested an angry pink lightning bolt.

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A/N: A relatively new idea to me; I just finished a bunch of super good HPLV fanfics, and I admit I'm addicted, so I wanted to try it myself. Good? Bad? Please review and tell me what you think :)


	2. Chapter 1: Growing Pains

**Disclaimer****: Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him... oh wait, I didn't create that, either.**

**A/N: So I feel as if I owe you an explanation - which really, I do - as to why it's taken so long to get one chapter up.**

**Well. I actually had this chapter done weeks ago, but we've hit some snags. First, Dray's computer broke (rendering her unable to beta the chapter), then we had a history culminating to do which took up way more time than it should have to complete, and _then_ Dray's been working like crazy. I only just got the beta back today, two weeks after I sent it off, and I'm posting this before I get the second beta back (which means mistakes are more than likely to be in there, somewhere, and we'll probably find and fix them eventually). But I'm done making excuses.**

**And, of course, thanks to Dray for being my beta and keeping me on task. And stuff.**

Chapter 1: Growing Pains

The sky was a mix of red and gold the next evening, the setting sun casting long shadows over the vast landscape. On the far eastern corner of the land a forest decorated with autumn colours mirrored the sky's varied hues; and a blue stream ran between the trees, contrasting with the warm feel of the world around it. A worn path wound its way away from the small brook, over green fields covered in frost, and toward an elegant white house. The house, two storeys tall, was as large and open as the land it overlooked. The walls were littered with windows, letting the fading light filter into the building to illuminate its interior. In the center of the house's back wall was a room that jutted out beyond the rest of the house; three walls made up entirely of glass windows. Within the solarium, seven figures stood on the plush carpet, six of them positioned in a circle around the last. The six, clad from head to toe in midnight-coloured cloaks, stood with their dominant arm raised and wooden sticks of various lengths and colours held toward the central figure. This one, wearing a snowy cloak, clutched a small bundle of white cloth to his chest, hooded face lowered toward his burden.

In the still silence of the room, a pair of muffled footsteps could be heard approaching. No one moved as a door on the sole windowless wall opened to reveal a seventh figure cloaked in black, a long silver beard flowing out from under the man's dark hood. Stepping into his place in the circle, the man lifted his own wand, his voice pleasant as he spoke. "Now then, shall we begin?"

The bundle in the white figure's arms moved, revealing a small child that was barely a year old with tufts of black hair and intelligent green eyes. The toddler smiled up at his carrier, extending his small hands toward his hooded face. His right hand, clearly the child's dominant, bore an odd silvery lightning-shaped burn mark which shone oddly in the twilight. He reached up, grasping at the figure's dark hair and tugging it happily.

The man who spoke before chuckled now, amused by the white figure's apparent discomfort. Without saying anything further, he lifted his wand away from the two in the middle of the circle, towards the ceiling. The other six followed the man's lead in raising their wands as he began to speak.

"On this day, we recognize that Sirius Orion Black has accepted to fulfill his role as the godfather of Lily Evans Potter and James Potter's only son." When the last of his words were uttered, a golden stream of light emanated from the tip of his wand, filling the solarium with its glow. He brought his arm down, lowering his hood as he did so to expose his face; a nose that appeared to have been broken, long silver hair to match his beard, and sapphire eyes partially hidden behind half-moon glasses.

To the man's right, a feminine voice spoke out. "On this day, we recognize that Sirius Orion Black is a loyal and trustworthy member of the Order of the Phoenix." The woman's wand sent forth a scarlet beam, and she lowered her own hood. Her hair was black to match her robes, pulled tightly into a bun at the nape of her neck. She looked on at the figure in the center – Sirius Black – from behind square glasses, beady eyes blinking as her lips pulled themselves into a thin line.

Sensing it was his turn, the figure on the woman's right spoke. "On this day, we recognize that Sirius Orion Black is a worthy guardian of the child he holds." The voice was a cold baritone, matching the cool silvery beam that shot from the man's wand. His hooked nose protruded from his hood, which was quickly pulled down to expose dark, lank hair and black eyes.

The next figure in the circle, a man much shorter than the others, spoke in turn. "On this day, we recognize that Sirius Orion Black is capable of supplying what the child needs." A dazzling blue light burst from the tip of his wand, and he let out a small squeak of excitement as he lowered his hood, displaying a shock of white hair and ancient features.

The fifth person of the circle, a squat woman, continued the ritual. "On this day, we recognize that Sirius Orion Black is willing to learn all that is needed in order to be an adequate father to this child." Yellow sparks shot from her wand to join the other coloured lights around the room, and she smiled as she pushed her hood down with her perpetually dirty fingers. She had gray hair that flew in all directions and a kind face that reassured everyone who so much as glanced at her. Sirius looked up from the infant and toward her, comforted by her widening smile.

The next person in the circle, a tall man with stiff posture, spoke with a slight quiver to his words. "On this day, we recognize that Sirius Orion Black is willing to take an active role in this child's life." Bronze light emitted from his wand before he lowered his hood. His eyes, a warm amber colour, were hidden behind stray locks of brown hair.

The final figure in the circle, a taller woman with a thin frame, spoke her peace. "On this day, we recognize that Sirius Orion Black will take this child as his own." A green flash, the colour of sapling leaves, shone through the room and joined the six other lights from the ritual. When she removed the hood from her head, her dark eyes surveyed the group before her through a thick curtain of black hair.

Finally, Sirius took a breath and spoke. "I, Sirius Orion Black, fully accept the responsibility of this child, and take him as my own. Henceforth, he shall be known not as who he was but as my son, as Tyl Cygnus Black. He has been accepted as a member of the family," he paused, turning to Andromeda Black Tonks, who nodded. The green light disappeared. "As a godson," he continued, turning to Remus Lupin, who smiled warmly. The bronze disappeared. "As a friend," Pomona Sprout grinned happily. Yellow diminished. "As a student," Filius Flitwick let out a squeak, his elation apparent. Blue dissolved into nothingness. "As a charge," Sirius turned to Severus Snape, who nodded despite the slight disdain that was evident on his features. Silver faded. "As a future member of the Order," the thin line of Minerva McGonagall's lips became less tense, showing her affirmation. Scarlet vanished. "And as a grandson." Blue eyes twinkled merrily from behind half-moon spectacles, and the final light, a bright gold, faded with the rest. Within the silence of the night, a single white light flashed once through the room, illuminating the dark space around the nine figures. Nightfall became day for a brief moment, before falling to dusk once more.

The boy in Sirius' arms, Tyl Cygnus Black, gazed happily at the people gathered around him. He held his hands away from his body, trying to grasp everything at once, his green eyes shining with his infant joy. Even with an awareness limited by his young age, he knew that in that moment he belonged once more.

Albus Dumbledore watched Sirius Black and his son with profound fondness. Sirius, despite causing a great deal of trouble for the staff of Hogwarts during his seven year stay, had been one of the Headmaster's favourite pupils. He was smart, courageous, and completely devoted to the light; a beacon of hope for his fellow students. Seeing the young man's face light up as it did in the presence of his adopted son warmed Albus' heart. He knew that Sirius would love his son; would treat him as his own and shelter him from the harm of the world like no other could, no matter how painful a reminder the child was of Sirius' best friend. Seeing the newly formed family together reaffirmed his choice in ritual; reassuring Albus that he had chosen the best he possibly could. The ceremony he selected was ideal for several reasons; the bond between a true parent and child that formed between the two subjects was only one of them.

What was probably the most beneficial aspect of the ritual was the protection that was layered within the magic. The ceremony ensured that every role mentioned would be fulfilled; which meant that Tyl would have seven adults other than his father that would be completely committed to him; each filling a different role in the child's life based on what he needed. That not only guaranteed that the boy would be well cared for, but that every member would be magically bound to remain on the boy's side of the war. It would assure the allegiances of all individuals included. In the event that someone found a way _around_ this condition, another defence was in place. No one involved in the ritual would be able to mention that Harry Potter and Tyl Black were the same person unless they were speaking directly to someone who had partaken in the ceremony... and only if everyone in hearing distance was already privy to the information. Only Albus himself would be able to reveal this information as the one who began the ritual. Even going beyond that, the boy himself would never remember that he was once Harry Potter. A master Legilimens would be unable to uncover the information from the child's mind – the ritual ensured that the memories were completely destroyed, that there was no possible way to gain access to them.

Which meant that Harry Potter no longer existed.

And _that_ meant that he was impossible to track down. Even if he looked like his parents, anyone who would have been able to make the connection was in that very room with Albus, and would be unable to say anything around unknowing parties. And if Harry himself did not know that he wasn't born Tyl... well, that just made this all the more believable. Certainly Tom Riddle would be unable to track down the child of prophecy. Tyl was guaranteed his safety; and all because Albus had thought long and hard about what ritual to use when performing the adoption ceremony of the boy and his godfather.

His musing finished for the time being, Albus walked over to the one figure that stood apart from the crowd of well-wishers. The man, tall and dark, had his arms crossed over his chest defiantly, a scowl marring his features. "Severus, my boy," he said happily, resting a hand on the younger man's shoulder.

"Headmaster," Snape said quietly, his gaze not moving from the child he was sworn to protect. "To what do I owe the... _honour_?"

Albus chuckled, following Snape's line of sight to the green-eyed Black. "He has her eyes," he commented unnecessarily.

"Anyone can see that."

"Why don't you go see him?"

"I don't want to be near that insufferable brat any more than is absolutely necessary." Snape's eyes finally moved from Tyl, resting balefully on Albus' visage.

"Severus, I'm sure he's nothing like his father," the Headmaster said pointedly.

Snape snorted. "Which one?" he asked dryly.

Albus shot an admonishing look at Snape, his eyebrows raised and a crinkle in his brow. "Severus, if this is going to work, you're going to have to get over that grudge you hold."

Snape threw his hands up in exasperation. "What do you want from me, Headmaster?"

Blue eyes twinkled triumphantly. "Why, Severus, I'm hurt that you suspect such intent from me."

Snape's scowl deepened, his dark eyes moving to glare holes into the side of Sirius Black's head. It took every fibre of his being not to snap at his employer, at the man who had saved him from the very pull of darkness. Albus, sensing he had won the battle, smiled jovially at his Potions Master before leaving the man's side to join the crowd. Despite his protest, the dark man knew that he too was drawn to the infant that everyone was fondling. His fingers twitched, and all he could think was that the boy was _Lily's_ child. And he knew, when the thought struck him, that he would do everything in his power to protect the last reminder that he had of Lily Evans.

As he watched the witches and wizards gathered around each other laughing happily, he was hit with a wave of jealousy. He had always wanted to be accepted like that, always wished he could have friends around him – but the Marauders had ruined that for him when they targeted him in their first year. The four Gryffindors had quickly become popular within the school, and as their victim of choice, Snape had soon become an enemy of the entire student population. Only his dorm mates were willing to defend him because he offered them power. Snape saw this now that he had returned to the Light, and it disgusted him. He wanted what the group before him had – he wanted to belong.

He was just taking a step, moving closer to the witches and wizards congregating around their golden child, when a burning pain flared up Snape's left arm. He clutched at his forearm through his sleeve, a grimace marring his features where the scowl once was. Unsure of what to do, the young man cast his eyes around frantically, frozen in terror, before he uttered, "Headmaster—"

Eight pairs of eyes were suddenly upon him, the most unnerving of them the knowing green. Snape turned from the accusing look, his grip tightening as black met blue. The old man offered him a tight nod, his eyes hardening when they saw the hand that clutched at the Potions Master's left arm. Snape was struck with a sense of disappointment that his mentor was letting him go to the madman who had ruined his life.

Hardening his features into an emotionless mask, Snape drew his black hood over his head, producing a Death Eater mask from within the folds of his cloak. As he strode purposefully – and forebodingly – past the group in the center of the room, Snape felt the eyes following him as he exited the solarium.

**~Haunted by Ill Angels~ **

They were gathered in a room. It was large and made of stone; the walls, floor, and ceiling all a combination of the hard, gray rock. Attached to the walls were several sconces which held flickering candles. The air in the room was musty, earthen, and humid enough to make the cloaked figures shift uncomfortably on their feet as they watched the scene before them. A portion of the space held a small dais, upon which sat a large stone throne, as gray as the walls of the room. The masked figures seemed to be congregated around this throne; around the man who sat imperiously on its seat. The man was tall with dark hair and aristocratic features. Even sitting, he was elegant, and the only sign that he was different from the masked figures in the room was the odd hue of his eyes.

When he arrived at the Death Eater meeting, Snape was unsurprised to see a masked body writhing on the floor in agony, his whimpering the only indication that he had not yet lost consciousness. He could only guess what had upset the Dark Lord this time; it could have been as insignificant as not showing enough gratitude to the man who so loved to torture his army.

"Severus, so glad you could join us," a high, cold voice hissed mockingly, and Snape walked toward the throne he knew his Lord was lounging in, bowing low at the man's feet. He didn't have to look up to know that the crimson eyes were staring at him; the Dark Lord needed no eye contact to legilimize his victims.

Despite his instincts screaming at him in protest, Snape lowered his occlumency shields to allow the Dark Lord Voldemort access to his mind – showing him the meeting the Order had held that had postponed his arrival. _But you'll never know that it's all a lie,_ he thought bitterly, hopefully. Lord Voldemort was a master Legilimens, but Snape was an even greater Occlumens. He knew that the only reason he was able to spy on the Dark Lord for Dumbledore was that he was so skilled in the area of mind magic.

Voldemort, apparently satisfied for the moment, withdrew his presence from Snape's mind, his long fingers tapping elegantly against his pale chin. There was silence for several long moments before the man finally spoke, his scarlet eyes surveying the army before him. "As you all know," he began, his voice soft so that his men had to strain to hear, "The Potters were successfully eliminated last night." His manner sent another message, entirely too clear – _you had _better_ know._ Snape shivered in fear thinking of what the lunatic would do to anyone who proved _not_ to know. "However," the man continued, "The boy survived. He has been taken, hidden, I am sure," his eyes rounded on Snape, who bowed his head subserviently. "And I want him _found_." His tone brooked no argument, and the Death Eaters became wary. There was no doubt that failure would mean punishment. "You will do what you can to find this child. Understood?"

"But, my Lord," a voice spoke up, and Snape knew that that was the wrong choice entirely. He didn't even cringe when a flick of the Dark Lord's wand sent the man falling to the floor, his screams echoing throughout the room. "My-my Lord," the man stuttered again once his screams subsided, "W-why do you ne-ed to find th-the boy?" His body was still sprawled over the floor, limbs twitching at random times as he spoke. His scrunched up features betrayed the pain he still suffered.

"My reasons are my own," Voldemort said simply, before flicking his wand at the man once more. "_Crucio_." Screams filled the room once more, and this time Snape _did_ cringe. The torture was unnecessary - beyond cruel. The shrieks of agony subsided when the Dark Lord grew tired of the needless torture, the man on the floor whimpering as he was dragged back into the circle of Death Eaters. Crimson eyes trailed over masks, and the Dark Lord whispered, "I expect Harry Potter to be found, no matter the cost." His eyes glowed menacingly as he said this, and Snape could practically _see_ the obsession take hold of the man's mind; his newest target was one that Voldemort would not forget anytime soon. He knew that the Dark Lord would do whatever it took to capture the boy who had been marked as his equal.

Severus Snape was suddenly very, _very_ worried.

**~Haunted by Ill Angels~ **

"I can't _do_ this anymore, Albus!"

"Severus, you must. For the sake of Tyl."

Tyl looked up from the picture book on his lap to gaze at the group of adults seated around a table in his family's library. He was used to these meetings now, having experienced them for the majority of the four years of his life. Although he was definitely a 'big boy' now, as his father often told him, he was still forced to stay in the same room as the adults whenever they gathered. _For his protection_, they told him. He frowned, his green eyes squinting angrily at the tall dark man who complained every time Tyl saw him. He was always this upset when the grownups got together, but he _never_ complained. The four-year-old didn't know what would make his protector act so strangely, but he knew it couldn't be any good.

"You don't understand! It's only gotten worse each meeting." The dark man rested his head in his hands, his shoulders hunching over.

"This is my _son_, Severus. He's worth it," Tyl's father interrupted passionately, his gray eyes shining with emotion. He and the dark man didn't like each other much, but they treated each other a lot better than they did in Tyl's first memories of them. It was probably because the dark man was trusted to watch over him when his father couldn't. The dark man – Sev'rus, he called him – had been really nervous at first, Tyl remembered, but he was a lot better now. He had become Tyl's protector, his guardian angel, saving him from the perils of childhood and boredom constantly. Sev'rus even gave Tyl the picture book that was now resting on the boy's small lap.

"I know he is, Sirius," Sev'rus said tiredly, "But the Dark Lord has been searching for Tyl for three years now. He's only getting harder to deal with, and he doesn't seem inclined to give up any time soon." He looked worn; his dark hair fell over his face, hiding his features. He made no move to push it back.

"Which is exactly why you must keep spying for us," Tyl's Aunt Minnie said sternly. "If you hadn't been there to direct the search away from Tyl, who knows what might have happened to him." The group glanced at the boy all at once, as if the action had been planned out.

"You aren't _listening_ to me," Sev'rus exclaimed, standing from his wooden seat. He began to speak again, but Tyl quickly grew bored and stood up from his spot on the carpet, wandering away from the table and exploring the vast expanse of the Black library.

The room lived up to the prestige of the Black name; it was huge, with shelves upon shelves of books covering an impossible range of subjects. There were scarlet and gold armchairs situated around wooden tables in seemingly random spaces between shelves, and a second floor that only swept along the outer edges of the library. The stairs leading to this ring were wide and made of polished mahogany, with sleek white rugs situated at the top and bottom of the steps to help prevent accidents. Identical rugs could be found under the furniture of the library, keeping the array of chairs from scraping loudly on the hardwood floor. In the center, the shelves stopped abruptly to create a wide open area, where a large mahogany table was situated. The Order of the Phoenix was currently occupying this table, several mahogany chairs pulled around its edge.

Tyl wandered away from this center area, winding through the expanse of shelves in the grand room. He dragged his picture book beside him, a small hand clasped around the front cover of the book. The pages trailed the floor, making whispery noises as the boy walked. Tyl soon forgot he was supposed to be near the adults, and quickly became lost in the labyrinth of bookshelves. Unconcerned, the four-year-old swung his arms happily as his eyes scanned the books on the shelves, looking for the prettiest binding.

The boy stop abruptly when he spotted a black leather-bound book with golden letters imprinted in a fancy font, spelling _The Art of Transfiguration_. He didn't understand the longest word, but he reached for the book nonetheless, excited that he had found such a pretty book. He sat down where he was on the floor, opening the book to a random page. His face scrunched as he attempted to read the letters before him; for the most part decipherable but in no way understandable. Still, he liked the moving pictures that he found on some pages, especially when objects were transformed into animals, and he passed the time flipping happily through the pages.

He was completely startled when a deep voice spoke behind him.

"Tyl, what do you have there?" The voice was not angry, but Tyl jumped guiltily nonetheless, turning to see the dark man crouched down, looking worn but relieved. He wasn't surprised that Sev'rus had found him; the man had always been there first when there was a problem, whenever Tyl needed help. He just seemed to _know_, as if by magic, where Tyl was at all times. Now, seeing that his protector was simply curious, the boy held the book up for the man to see, a smile stretching across his face. Sev'rus' face became confusion, and soon Tyl's mirrored it. Why wasn't his protector excited?

"See?" Tyl prompted when Sev'rus didn't answer. The man soon came back to himself, his confusion disappearing as he smiled in response.

"That's quite the book you've got there," Sev'rus agreed, removing the book from the boy's grip. "Why are you reading it?"

"The pictures," Tyl answered, reaching for the book. Sev'rus frowned, relinquishing the book to the four-year-old once more. The boy flipped through the pages, finding a picture of a table being transformed into a tiger. He pointed at it eagerly, his smile growing. "I want to do that," he declared.

Sev'rus arched an eyebrow. "Oh?"

Tyl nodded frantically, his smile becoming a grin.

"Alright, then," the man said, and he pulled out his wand. He waved it once in the air, and a small table appeared in his free hand. He offered the miniature table to the boy, who quickly snatched it up. Sev'rus cleared his throat, looking at Tyl expectantly.

"Thank you, Sev'rus," Tyl said obediently, a blush creeping onto his features at his mistake. When Sev'rus nodded, the boy turned to the table in his hands, his face scrunching in concentration. For several minutes, there was nothing. Then, suddenly, the table sprouted a tiny wooden tail. Encouraged, Tyl stared harder at the miniscule furniture, until it grew a small wooden face. He grinned up at Sev'rus, clearly pleased with his feat of magic.

"Very well done, Tyl," Sev'rus said fondly, taking the miniature tiger-table when Tyl presented it to him. "Now, we'd better go back. Your father is worried about you." He stood up, offering a long-fingered hand to the boy, who instantly grasped it with both of his own, and they walked back through the library to the center of the room, where the rest of the Order was waiting for them.

The two arrived back in the center of the library, where they were instantly greeted by a fuming Sirius.

"Tyl Cygnus Black," he scolded, "Do you have any idea how _worried_ you made us?" His arms were folded over his chest, his gray eyes narrowed angrily at his four-year-old son.

Tyl took his hand back from Sev'rus, clasping his hands behind his back and looking shamefully at the ground. "M'sorry," he muttered unhappily.

"You could have been hurt," Sirius continued, apparently not having heard his son. "You could have been stolen by Voldemort-" he politely ignored the reflexive cringe that several people in the room had, "-or something _worse_ could have happened!"

"Worse?" Tyl asked, looking up at his father. His father had always told him that being taken by Voldemort is the worst thing that could happen to him, that the evil man had been trying to hurt him his whole life. His father told him that the evil man gave him the lightning bolt scar on the palm of his right hand when he was only a baby; that his mother wasn't with him because of the Dark Lord. Tyl couldn't even begin to imagine what could be worse than the evil man.

"Sirius," Tyl's godfather Remus said, placing a hand on his father's shoulder. "You're being ridiculous."

"I'm not!" his father shouted angrily, rounding on his best friend. "Something could have happened to him, and then where would we be?" He hit Remus' hand off of his shoulder, a snarl ripping from his throat.

"Sirius, that's quite enough," Aunt Minnie said, her lips drawn into a thin line as she levelled her wand at Tyl's father.

"You're right, it is!" Sirius shouted, his eyes glinting dangerously. "How do you expect my _son_ to be your saviour? How can you expect him to defeat Voldemort? He's _four_, for Merlin's sake!"

"Sirius, now is not the time," Dumbledore spoke quietly, finally stepping in to end the fight. He shot a pointed glance at Tyl, who hid behind Sev'rus' leg. "Perhaps you should sit down."

Sirius shut his mouth, collapsing into the nearest chair. His eyes stared blankly into the space before him.

Tyl whimpered from behind Sev'rus' leg, his lip quivering as he tried not to cry in front of his father's friends. He had to be strong, he knew, and strong boys didn't cry. His sad sounds caught the attention of his godfather Remus, who knelt down beside Tyl, holding a strong hand out to the boy.

"Come on, cub," he said softly, smiling warmly at his godson. "Why don't you and I go for a walk?" Tyl shuffled closer to Sev'rus, his small hands grabbing onto the dark fabric of the man's trouser leg. "Severus can come too," he said, glancing up at the man in question. Seeing the Slytherin's nod, Remus returned his attention to the young boy in front of him. "Some fresh air will be nice."

Realizing that both adults were going to stay with him, Tyl nodded slowly, his green eyes wide. He relinquished his grip on Sev'rus' trousers, instead reaching out and grabbing onto his godfather. Remus picked him up, cooing at the boy as he strode from the library, Sev'rus at his side. As they left, Tyl's shoulders shook unmistakeably with his effort to remain calm.

**~Haunted by Ill Angels~**

On his fifth birthday, Tyl found out that his grandmother had died, leaving his father the last remaining heir of the main Black line. He didn't exactly understand what that meant, only that it made his father happy, and that they had considerably more money than before. Sev'rus, newly christened Severus (as Tyl found the nickname rather childish and embarrassing), spent more time in the evil man's presence than ever before. As a result, the Order learned more about the Dark Lord, but Severus became more desperate every time he returned. The adults stopped keeping Tyl with them when they met, and the boy caught several people watching him strangely. Tyl spent most of his time practicing the strange magic that he had learned in the library when he was four, and although he never transformed anything perfectly or on the first try, he knew he was getting better.

When he was six, his father began leaving on missions for the Order frequently, leaving Tyl under the care of Remus or his grandpa Albus. Soon Remus left on missions, too, but he never came back like Tyl's father did. Grandpa Albus told Tyl that his godfather was on his next great adventure, that he was happy where he was now, and he would certainly _not_ forget about his godson. Tyl never really understood why his father was always sad after that day.

When Tyl turned seven, he found that transforming objects into animals was a lot easier than it had been before, and he could perform the magic on his second or third try. He had begun experimenting with other forms of the magic, creating large objects from smaller ones. He wasn't very good at that, but he found that when he tried making things from water, it almost always worked. He also made his first real friend that year. It was the day before Christmas, and Tyl was walking beside the brook near his house. He had his right hand stretched out toward it as he walked, his lightning-shaped scar gleaming in the reflections of light cast off of the snow and freezing water. As he walked, brow furrowed in concentration, small birds made of water formed, flying beside his hand. When he walked into a taller form, he yelped in surprise, falling back. The water birds broke into thousands of water droplets, splashing into the creek below them.

Tyl sat up, shaking the snow from his hair. He heard laughter, and looked to the source. There was a tall boy standing over Tyl, his freckled face red as he laughed. He had a shock of bright red hair, and his ears were too big. Tyl's eyes narrowed angrily. Who was this boy, and what right did he have to laugh at him? The dark haired boy stood up, angrily brushing the snow off of his coat. His head barely reached the other boy's chin, but his stature was imposing enough that the redhead stopped laughing.

"Who are you?" Tyl demanded, his green eyes flashing angrily.

"Ron-Ron Weasley," the boy said, his blue eyes wide.

"What are you doing here?"

"I-" Ron faltered, looking around hesitantly. "My mum sent me to get you."

Tyl froze. "Your mum? Why?"

Ron wrung his hands together nervously. "Well, my mum is friends with your dad, and we're going to go to my house today."

Tyl resisted the urge to be mean to the tall redhead. Beside the fact that he thought it was _funny_ to laugh at his expense, he couldn't even form a proper sentence. And they thought Tyl would get along with this strange boy? "Well, alright," Tyl decided, shrugging and following the boy back to the house. "Are there any other kids by your house?" he asked with mock interest.

"Yeah, of course," Ron said happily. "There's my three older brothers and the twins – they're also older – and my little sister."

Tyl's nose wrinkled. "Anyone _else_?"

"Well," Ron said, his face screwing up in thought. "There's Loony Lovegood, but she's really weird."

"Is she at your house too?"

"Why would she be at my house?"

Tyl sighed. Five minutes with this boy and already he didn't like him. He had to explain _everything_. "Well, since I'm going to be there, I thought maybe other kids were, too."

"Oh. No. Your dad's going on a mission for the Order, so you're going to be staying with us."

"For Christmas?" Tyl was filled with dread.

"Yeah! Isn't it great?" Ron, ever oblivious, smiled at Tyl. It occurred to Tyl that the redhead had never even bothered to ask his name.

When the two boys made it to the house, they were greeted by a large woman with bright red hair that matched Ron's. "Oh, you must be Tyl," she greeted happily, enveloping the small boy in a tight hug. "It's wonderful to meet you at last. Your father has told me so much about you."

Tyl scowled. This woman was probably a member of his father's Order, but he had never seen her before. That only meant that they had been sneaking their meetings around him. He could only wonder why.

"Well, come along," the woman said, grabbing Tyl's hand in her large, warm one. "Do you know how to work the floo?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Oh, dear, call me Molly. Alright, so just throw the powder into the fireplace and say, 'The Burrow'."

Tyl nodded, grabbing a handful of floo powder. He stepped into the large stone fireplace, throwing in the powder as he mumbled, "_The Burrow_," and he was quickly flying through the floo system. The Burrow came all too soon, and the young boy was tumbling out of the house's fireplace, coughing as the ashes clouded around his face. Laughter sounded, and Tyl looked up to see a congregation of redheads. He scowled, stood up, brushed the soot from his clothes, and glared at the family before him. Weasleys. Now that he saw them, he did recall meeting one or two of them before, on the few occasions that his father let him leave their estate.

"Tyl Black," he said simply, his gaze shifting from Weasley to Weasley.

"I'm Fred," a boy said, appearing suddenly from behind an old couch.

"And I'm George," a second, identical boy declared, jumping from his spot on the floor.

"Contrary-wise, he's Fred and I'm George," the first said, and Tyl frowned.

"Fred, George, stop confusing the poor boy," the Weasley matron said as she stepped out of the fireplace. Ron was holding onto her side; her robes clutched in his pale hands.

"Sorry mum," both twins said without any trace of remorse.

Mrs. Weasley ignored them, her gaze shifting back to Tyl. "Well, Tyl," she said, "I suppose it's time for introductions." She waved her hand in the direction of the twins. "This is Fred and George. That tall one over there is Bill, he's in his seventh year at Hogwarts. That shorter boy over there is Charlie. He's a fifth year. Next to him is Percy. It's his first year; we were _so_ proud when he was sorted into Gryffindor like the rest of our family. And over there," the woman pointed to a small girl who was hiding by the wooden stairwell, "that is our little Ginevra. Arthur is at work right now, but you'll meet him later tonight."

Tyl nodded, smiling politely. "It's nice to meet you," he lied. He looked around the room, seeing past the sagging armchair and the old couch, around the shelf holding firewhiskey, and through the army of Weasleys gathered in the sitting room. "Can I go outside?" he asked quietly.

The twins immediately pounced, wrapping an arm over each of his shoulders.

"We'll take you out," one said, "Won't we, Forge?"

"Of course we will Gred," the second replied. "You'll love it out there."

Tyl nodded as he was dragged out of the house by the two redheads. The three passed through a tiny kitchen, heading out a back door and into a large garden. There was a fence surrounding the garden, and gnarled trees. The ground was hidden by a thick layer of snow that crunched under their boots. Tyl thanked the twins for escorting him to the backyard, but was unsurprised when the two didn't leave him.

Opting to end the deafening silence, Tyl asked, "So, what House are you two in?"

The twin on Tyl's left grinned. "No House yet."

On the right, the second twin mirrored his brother's grin. "We're going to Hogwarts in two years, aren't we Fred?"

"That's right, George."

Tyl nodded, inspecting the twins closely. The boy on his left had a freckle over his right eye that the other didn't. He knew that wasn't much to go on without knowing who was who, but it'd do for now. As far as he could guess, they confused each other's names to confound everyone else, which meant that the twin with the extra freckle was George.

A smirk crossed Tyl's features briefly. He wouldn't unveil his knowledge for the time being; he'd surprise the twins later. The dark haired boy was pleased that he'd found someone his age that would be clever enough to devise such a plan. Even the Weasley family, who lived with the twins, was baffled by their game.

Fred and George made Tyl's stay at the Burrow that much more bearable.

**~Haunted by Ill Angels~ **

Tyl spent much of his time with Fred and George, and he was declared an honorary Weasley on his eighth birthday. He had been able to tell the twins apart since the day he had met them, but he never thought to tell them that he knew which was which. He enjoyed their game, even purposely misnaming them so that he wouldn't give himself away. The three of them plotted, using each of their own talents together to create new pranks and inventions. Tyl's father seemed to be incredibly proud any time the three of them launched a new prank.

Outside of the Burrow and Black estate, Voldemort became even more active, launching several raids in a month. The Order gained many new members; each looking to Tyl with awe after just one meeting with Albus Dumbledore. The boy never figured out why they looked at him with such hero-worship.

The following year, Fred and George were sorted into Ravenclaw. Their glee at having surprised their family with even their sorting was evident, and Tyl vowed to join them when he went to Hogwarts. He missed spending time with the twins, but exchanged letters constantly. The two Weasleys sent their Transfiguration notes with their letters, and Tyl practiced constantly to keep up with his friends. Severus only showed up every few meetings, and he never stayed long enough to say hello to Tyl. The boy was saddened by this, but he pushed such thoughts away from him. His grandpa Albus didn't let him go to the Burrow anymore, but Tyl didn't mind. Without the twins, he had no reason to go to the Weasley home any more.

When Tyl was ten, Severus stopped coming to order meetings. His father told him that Severus went to be with his godfather. Tyl was sad, but his father told him that his protector was happier with Remus. The boy decided that if it was so great there that his family kept leaving then he wanted to go too. When he told his father that, he was grounded to his room for a week. He supposed that he wasn't allowed to go.

With his protector no longer teaching at Hogwarts, Tyl's Aunt Andromeda filled the role as the school's Potions Mistress. Tyl didn't visit her very often, but when he did he liked spending time with his cousin Nymphadora, who was a Hufflepuff. Tyl called her Nymph, and he was sure that he was the only one in the school allowed to even _consider_ calling her by that name.

On Tyl's eleventh birthday, he finally received his Hogwarts letter. He was so overjoyed that he immediately ran to his father's study, bursting through the door without asking. He found his father asleep at his desk, drool falling from his lips and pooling on the desk below him. Tyl blinked at the prone form of his father then set the letter delicately on the desk before leaving the office quietly. He could celebrate with his father later. The man had been incredibly busy for as long as Tyl could remember, and it had only gotten worse in recent years.

Tyl still couldn't wait until he finally got his wand.

He could only imagine the magic he could perform once he had an actual wand.

* * *

**A/N: So... a little anticlimactic :) I'll begin working on the next chapter now that this one is up and I have a bit of spare time, and we'll have it posted as soon as we can.**

**Oh, and just to let you guys know, Voldemort won't be a main character for a bit. I think it'd be a tad too inappropriate for an eleven-year-old to be in love with a seventy-whatever-year-old. Voldemort will still make appearances, but won't actually have much of a part until third year. Sorry :(**

**But please review and tell me what you think.**


	3. Chapter 2: To Hogwarts

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything you know... seriously, if I did, the story would have ended up... well, like this :) Oh, and the Sorting Hat's song was totally written by me.**

**A/N: So... my excuse... Well, beside the fact that my beta is MIA (this chapter is unbeta'd, so any mistakes are mine alone), life hit me pretty hard a few weeks ago, and... well... I just got over it.**

**I'd also like to clear a little something up before we begin. One lovely reviewer commented about Tyl's naivety regarding the deaths of Remus and Snape. I'd like to explain this to everyone, just so we're all on the same page. Yeah, by Tyl's age he should know what death is. He does, really (he knows his mother is dead, for example). However, Tyl grew up knowing and experiencing only what Dumbledore wanted him to, and being in such a protected environment caused his sense of reality to be a tad skewed. On another note, _because_ Tyl grew up in such a closed environment, he has very few friends, and those that he does have are very close to him. Learning that he won't see them again triggered a bit of a defence mechanism. The adults know he doesn't believe their story, and Tyl knows that what they say isn't true, but everyone wants to believe it's the truth _so badly _that they are able to trick themselves into believing their world is perfect.**

**Now that that's out there, on with the show!**

* * *

Chapter 2: To Hogwarts

Little Hangleton was buzzing with activity the night of July the thirty-first, many of the village's occupants congregating in the Hanged Man, the local bar. The air was cooler that evening than it had been all summer, a refreshing change from the usual blistering heat. Though the night was still young, the citizens of the town laughed and drank as if there were only minutes left before morning. Wives talked merrily to each other, gossiping vehemently. Their favourite topic was, as usual, the mysterious man who occupied the large manor on the nearby hill.

The Riddles had been found dead in that house nearly fifty years ago, although the cause of the family's demise had remained a mystery. Their maid had found the three of them sitting in the drawing room, dressed for dinner. Only, they wouldn't be dining any more. It had been a shame, really; the Riddle family was incredibly wealthy and kept Little Hangleton's economy high. Not to mention the fact that the son had been gorgeous.

Nonetheless, the village had moved on. The house had had several new tenants in the years to follow, but all had quickly left, claiming that there was a "nasty feeling" about it that they just couldn't shake. That is, all except for the most recent resident.

The man had moved in almost a decade ago, returning the previously dilapidated home to its former glory. Not much was known about the man, except that he was incredibly handsome. He didn't seem to leave his home often, and when he did it was to travel elsewhere, but his short trips through the town left the women swooning and the men green with envy.

There was one thing, however, that everyone agreed on – the man was influential.

They were never sure what gave them this impression of authority, except that the man – who they'd never really learned the name of and thus referred to as 'You-Know-Who' – exuded power. This was the source of their gossip. The women of the town always exchanged stories with one another, creating marvellous plots revolving around You-Know-Who and why someone so important and drop dead _gorgeous_ was living in such a small town – not that they really had a problem with that. They speculated upon the business he must have run and the women he probably bedded. Some even likened him to the deceased Riddle family – the son in particular. How _romantic_ would it have been for the long lost son of the beautiful Tom Riddle to return decades after his father's death, only to discover that his family was gone?

Although, You-Know-Who was _definitely_ too young to be the son of Tom Riddle. He couldn't have been over thirty! And thinking about someone so young already possessing so much power only brought upon more gossip.

The speed with which his residence had been restored was yet another popular topic for gossiping about. The house, christened Riddle manor, was once quite magnificent. Following the untimely demise of the Riddle family, the building had slowly but surely fallen into a state of disrepair. The windows had been boarded up, tiles had gone missing, and the vegetation had taken control of the land. Now, however, the lawn was kept in pristine condition and the house itself was never less than perfect in appearance. The walls were an off-white colour to offset the black-tiled roof, and the windows were always spotlessly clean. Although the red velvet curtains were usually drawn, at times a wandering villager could spot a marvellous library hidden within the walls of the house.

One lucky woman, Cecilia Scout, had even seen You-Know-Who reading by the window. She had quickly spread the news to her closest friends, boasting about the way the man lounged when he read – graceful yet casual – and how his shocking eyes settled on her through the window when he had felt her presence.

And God, but his eyes were the _strangest_ colour. They were such a unique mix of violet and gold that they appeared almost crimson; although Cecilia was never quite sure how those colours could blend into such a shade.

Nonetheless, it was that exact hue that was now gazing out of a window on the second floor of Riddle manor, watching distastefully as the residents of the town celebrated the cool summer night.

The man was lounging gracefully in a black leather armchair, one leg crossed imperiously over the other as his chin rested in the palm of his right hand. His left hand twirled a wizard's wand lazily as he listened to another man's low words.

The man finished speaking, and You-Know-Who turned his eyes away from the window, instead resting his gaze on the masked figure before him. "Is that so?" he questioned quietly, his voice chilled. The man nodded quickly before stooping into a bow. "Very well," the red-eyed man intoned, not bothering to acknowledge the masked man's subservience. "Quirinus," he beckoned.

Several seconds passed before the door opened and a second masked man entered, bowing deeply in reverence. "My Lord?" he said quietly as he lowered his body.

"You may stand," the Lord declared, and both masked figures straightened their postures. The Lord did not utter another command, however, letting the two men wait for whatever order they knew he would give. Instead, the man let his gaze roam the room, inspecting the blank wooden walls and scattered bookshelves before resting on the fireplace. Upon the hearth perched a blank picture frame.

The Lord stretched idly, deciding he'd let his servants suffer the machinations of their minds long enough for the time being. "Congratulations on becoming the new Defence teacher at Hogwarts," the man said coldly, his red eyes narrowing at the thought of the school. Nonetheless, infiltrating the establishment was the key to his plan, and he'd much rather his spy be a Defence professor than the teacher of _Muggle Studies_. The change was not necessary for his plan, but convenient. He leered satisfactorily when Quirinus flinched before turning to his spy. "You may tell Quirinus your information," he said, beckoning lazily for the man to speak.

The first man nodded, his eyes glinting behind his mask as he spoke. "Your target will be a first year in Hogwarts. He will have dark hair. His name –" the man appeared to struggle for a minute, before concluding, "Is unknown. His eyes are –" the man appeared to lose his voice for a second before he finally forced a word out of his mouth, albeit not what he originally planned to say. "Unmistakeable," he said lamely, before continuing. "He will have a mark on his –" here, the man gasped, clearly losing to the unknown force that refused to let him speak. He fell to his knees as a low whimper escaped his lips.

The Lord's mouth twitched as Quirinus turned his eyes upon him. He lowered his wand from the fallen man, his red eyes mocking the masked figure before him. "Can't make it too easy for you, can I?" he asked casually as his wand raised to the man still standing. He was clearly in a mood to 'play' with his Death Eaters; his games were well known among his ranks. Quirinus flinched, lowering his gaze to his Lord's feet. Still, he conceded, the Dark Lord was not as treacherous as he once was.

Since that Halloween night nearly ten years ago, Lord Voldemort had changed dramatically. He had moved his base to this house, planned more efficient raids (not that anyone was willing to say that they hadn't been efficient before), and even punished mistakes less severely than he once did (although he still became furious when anyone erred; he seemed to have realized that torturing your men until they could barely stand was _not_ conducive to better performance in future battles). The major change, however, was in his overall attitude. He seemed completely determined to find 'The Child' as he was referred to, and he became particularly enraged every time a Death Eater search turned up fruitless – although he often used it as a test of sorts; withholding information or intentionally worsening circumstances for his men. The fact that none of his ranks were able to pass his tests only made their future trials more difficult.

On the other hand, however, the Dark Lord also spent much time researching in the manor's library; although he never revealed what he was looking for. Despite this, the distraction was suitable enough for the Death Eaters to lick their wounds after yet another failed attempt at finding The Child.

All in all, the Dark Lord had changed, and no one was complaining. The Death Eaters had had many successes in the past decade, barring the many failed attempts at finding The Child, and now that they had information on the brat – as limited as it was thanks to their Lord's sadistic tendencies – things were sure to pick up. Just looking at their Lord, the two masked men could see triumph shining in the man's crimson gaze.

The Dark Lord tilted his head to the side as he gazed at the two men imperiously. "You may leave," he declared, waving a hand carelessly. The two Death Eaters bowed steeply before exiting the room.

Lord Voldemort leaned back in his seat, his lips curling into a smile that never appeared in the presence of his Death Eaters. He opened his left palm, his fingers weaving around his wand as he gazed almost obsessively at the lightning-shaped scar that had rested there for almost a decade.

"Harry Potter," he muttered to himself, "Soon you will be mine."

**~Haunted by Ill Angels~**

The Leaky Cauldron was unusually crowded when Tyl Black stumbled out of the fireplace. So crowded, in fact, that instead of hitting the floor when he lost his footing, he ran right into one of the tavern's many patrons.

"I'm sorry," Tyl exclaimed when he fell backwards onto the stone floor. He shielded his head with his arms when the person turned to face him, uttering several incoherent apologies. His first trip into the public seemed to be going swimmingly, and he'd only just arrived.

"I-it's o-o-okay," a man stuttered, crouching down to see to the fallen boy. His eyes widened slightly before he questioned, "Are you al-al-alright?"

The man was relatively young, with a shock of dark hair and dark eyes. One of his eyes twitched slightly when he met Tyl's gaze.

"Yes," the boy said, standing with the help of the man. He took a moment to regain his composure then brushed the soot off of his robes. "Thank you," he said, looking up at the man.

The wizard opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted when a smiling Sirius emerged from the fireplace.

"Wow, crowded," Tyl's father observed, before turning his eyes to his son. "Come along, then." He placed a hand on the boy's shoulder, steering him out of the Leaky Cauldron and toward the brick wall. He looked around for dramatic effect before tapping his wand on the wall in a seemingly random fashion as he muttered, "three up, two across."

Once Sirius had tapped the necessary brick, he stepped back with his son and watched as the wall separated, opening up to reveal a whole new world.

"Well, Tyl, welcome to Diagon Alley," Sirius said as his son stared wide-eyed at the scene before him.

Tyl had never been to the Alley before, for the sake of his 'safety', and the whole place baffled him. He had thought that the Leaky Cauldron was busy, but it didn't even compare to Diagon Alley. Everywhere Tyl looked, there were wizards and witches bustling about. And he couldn't blame them; there were _so many_ stores! There was an apothecary, an assortment of cafes, a cauldron shop, an owl emporium, and so much more that Tyl's head spun just thinking about where they were going to go first.

Fortunately, Sirius solved this problem by taking Tyl's arm in a loose grip and steering him off to Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions.

Tyl was a little bit flummoxed, however, when his father _left him_ in the middle of the store without a word. Not that the boy had any real problems with being out in public alone (not that that had ever happened before), but that his father of all people had made it happen! Tyl distinctly remembered his father getting worked up over him being alone in their own library; he couldn't imagine what would get the man to leave him alone in public, of all places.

But then a squat witch clothed in mauve robes bustled up to him and ushered him toward the back with a quick, "Hogwarts, dear?" and the green-eyed boy knew that his father had to have predicted this outcome; opting instead to avoid what looked to be a presumptuous woman who would probably have tried fitting both of them for robes.

Or maybe he was just hungry.

Nonetheless, Tyl allowed himself to be moved along without further pondering, stepping onto the stool when required. The woman – who Tyl assumed to be Madam Malkin – set to work pinning the proper lengths for his school robes, and he didn't even notice anyone else in the area until a boyish voice spoke to him.

"Hullo," the boy said, and repeated himself in a louder tone when Tyl didn't respond.

Once his attention had been caught, the Black heir turned his head slightly to the side, a surprised look on his face. "Hello." He didn't bother saying anything else, wondering why the child had deigned to talk to him in the first place. Although, judging by the boy's superior air, he surmised that perhaps the other boy thought that _Tyl_ was the one who was unworthy. The boy had a pointed face and pale skin, with hair so blond it could probably have been considered white. The thought of such a hair colour for a child elicited a small smile from Tyl's lips; the blond took this as an invitation to converse.

"Are you going to Hogwarts, too?"

"Yes," the dark-haired boy stated, as if the Hogwarts uniform being fitted to him didn't give that away.

The blond nodded. "Me too," he said. "Father is buying my books next door and Mother is looking into wands for me. When they're done, I'm going to take them to look at racing brooms. We're not allowed them at Hogwarts, but I think I'll smuggle one in after I convince father to buy me one."

"That's great," Tyl replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm – his favourite form of mocking since he'd learned it from the twins (thinking back, he wasn't sure how he'd survived without it before).

"Have _you_ got a broom?" the boy continued, oblivious to the brunet's ire.

"No," the Black heir responded, "Seeing as first years aren't allowed brooms."

The blond shrugged indignantly, and then winced as the witch attending to his robes poked him with a pin (although he was the one who had moved suddenly, so why he was glaring daggers at the poor woman Tyl would never know). "Well, I'll have one."

"Of course you will," Tyl replied tiredly.

"Do you play Quidditch?"

"A little," Tyl admitted. Knowing the Weasleys meant that he had no choice in the matter.

"So do I," the blond stated, "I play Seeker – the most important player on the team, you know." Tyl _did _know, but he supposed that was just a technicality. "Father says that it would be a complete crime if I wasn't put on my House team. I agree. Do you know what house you'll be in?"

The brunet couldn't help but send the blond a Look. The boy had to be utterly insane; he was obviously a pureblood, but he had the manners of a troll – and a spoiled one at that.

"Ravenclaw," he said simply. He refused to be placed anywhere other than where his friends were.

The blond, for his part, did no more than wrinkle his pointy nose; which was definitely preferable to the words that followed. "I suppose that's alright. I'm going to be Slytherin myself; but I suppose Ravenclaw is okay, too. I'd rather be anywhere than Hufflepuff, at any rate."

Tyl couldn't help but snap at the boy for his remark. "My cousin is a Hufflepuff," he said angrily.

"Oh, sorry," the blond said; although he didn't sound the least bit apologetic –not about being rude, anyway. He opened his mouth to speak again, but Tyl was saved when Madam Malkin interrupted him.

"You're done, dear," she said with a smile, gesturing for Tyl to step down from the footstool.

"I suppose I'll see you at Hogwarts, then," the blond said, looking dejected now that his 'friend' was leaving.

"I suppose so," Tyl agreed sadly before walking to the front of the shop. He stopped suddenly when he saw his father standing outside, leaning casually against the doorframe (for the door was ajar) with a birdcage in his hand.

But what shocked Tyl the most was the bird _inside_ the cage.

It was an owl, of course, and a beautiful one at that. She was a snowy owl – if the stunning white feathers didn't give that away, then the owl's general body shape did. Her amber eyes appeared to be more intelligent than the average owl could be accredited for, and she hooted softly in a manner that seemed to be asking Tyl who _he_ was.

As it was, the Black heir turned questioning green eyes to his father, who smiled in return.

"It's a day late, but Happy eleventh Birthday, Tyl," he said, grinning broadly as he held the owl's cage toward his son.

Tyl's eyes grew wide as he gazed at the bird; the boy for once without some comment on his lips.

"You should give her a name," Sirius prompted gently as he led his son out into Diagon Alley once more.

Tyl nodded silently, and although it bemoaned him to give _his owl_ such a name – because, admittedly, it was rather strange, even for an owl – he couldn't think of anything _but_ the one name until he spoke it out loud. "Hedwig."

Upon uttering the word, the owl hooted happily at Tyl, and although the boy didn't want to admit it (just thinking about who his owl – _his own owl! –_ was named after made him shudder), the name was perfect.

He couldn't even say why; just that once he had thought of the name, nothing else fit quite so well.

"Excellent," Sirius agreed before dragging the green-eyed boy toward Ollivander's Wand Shop.

The store was narrow and shabby-looking; its sign worn with age. The faded gold letters on the sign declared it to be '_Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC_'. Tyl looked at it sceptically before his father pulled him through the door. A bell chimed somewhere in the store when they entered, but otherwise the two were greeted by silence. The green-eyed boy took the moment to observe his surroundings, but was less than pleased with what he saw.

The place was, admittedly, tiny. Even with just the two Blacks there, Tyl felt cramped. The only furniture in the room was a spindly old chair that both wizards avoided looking at for too long. There were also several shelves lined with small boxes, but as far as he could tell, there was no one else in the store.

"Good afternoon."

The voice was soft enough that Tyl felt rather stupid when he jumped, but he couldn't deny that he was surprised. To his dismay, his father had apparently expected such a greeting, as he was smiling happily at the man who had just appeared.

"Nice to see you again, Ollivander," Sirius greeted pleasantly, placing a comforting shoulder on his son.

"Hello," Tyl said, trying to hide his embarrassment. He gazed calculatingly at the wand-maker, noting how his pale eyes shone with life despite his obvious old age.

The old man's wide eyes locked onto Tyl, his lips stretching into a smile. "_You_ must be Tyl Black," he said, moving forward to inspect the boy. "I had a feeling I'd be seeing you soon." His expression suddenly turned more serious, and he pulled a tape measure with silver markings out of his pocket. "Now then, which is your wand arm?"

Surprised slightly by the abrupt change in the man's attitude, Tyl held his right arm out to Ollivander, palm up.

The wand-maker's eyes widened slightly as he saw the lightning-shaped scar on the boy's hand. He made no other sign of having seen the strange mark, quickly measuring the length of Tyl's arm and forearm, the distance between the floor and his shoulder, the diameter of his head, and several other seemingly pointless dimensions.

"Alright, that will do," the man declared, and his tape measure crumpled into a pile on the floor. "Now then, let me see..." he mumbled to himself, wandering off into the store.

He returned several minutes later, holding a small, thin box in his hands. "Unusual combination," he said, opening the box gingerly, "Holly and phoenix feather, nice and supple." His eyes shone brightly as Tyl reached to take the wand in his hand.

The moment he held the wand, warmth spread throughout Tyl's arm. His green eyes widened dramatically at the power he felt. He moved his arm gracefully – it felt natural, like breathing – and silvery-white sparks emitted from the wand. He looked to Ollivander, who was beaming back at him.

"Excellent," he cried. "I was wondering – so similar – such power." He seemed to be talking to himself, but Tyl listened raptly nonetheless. "Very, very curious."

"I'm sorry," Tyl interrupted, "But what's curious?"

Ollivander rounded on Tyl, his expression serious. "I remember every wand I've ever made. That wand contains a phoenix feather," he explained quietly. "That phoenix gave only one other feather. That wand's brother –" he glanced at Sirius, who seemed somewhat baffled, before continuing, "Became the wand of the most feared Dark Lord in existence. Yew, thirteen and a half inches... That's not to say you will be a Dark Lord, of course," his eyes focused on Tyl's hand. "No, I expect not. I believe we will see great things from you, Mr. Black."

"What do you mean?" Tyl asked, unable to hide the wonder in his voice.

"That is a story for another time, I'm afraid," Ollivander said quietly, smiling apologetically at the two Blacks.

"Well, I suppose it's time to go," Sirius cut in, handing seven galleons to Ollivander. "We still have to get your books." He steered his son out of the store, smiling to cover his confusion. Ollivander almost _never_ found the right wand on his first attempt. Even as he pondered this strange event, one thought overran his mind.

What was that about?

**~Haunted by Ill Angels~**

"Come along, children," Molly Weasley said, ushering five redheaded children and one brunet boy through the crowded train station. The six children followed close behind her as they wound their way through the busy King's Cross Station.

"Let's see," she muttered to herself, "Platform 9, 10 – ah! There we are." She stopped abruptly, turning to the children. "Percy, you first."

The tallest child, a redhead, nodded as he steered his trolley in front of the barrier between the two platforms. After taking a quick breath, he walked toward the barrier. Just as it appeared that he was going to crash, the wizard disappeared _into_ the barrier.

"Perfect, prefect Percy," two redheaded twins said in unison, identical faces mocking.

Molly sighed in exasperation. "Alright, Fred," she said, beckoning to one of the twins.

"I'm not Fred," the twin replied, a frown marring his face.

Molly appeared taken aback. "I'm sorry, George. Go on, now."

The twin steered his own trolley forward, stopping right before he hit the barrier. "Just kidding," he said earnestly, "I am Fred." Then he, too, disappeared within the barrier.

The sole brunet boy rolled his eyes at the twin's antics. He wasn't planning to spoil his friend's fun, but he knew that Fred was still standing beside him.

"George," the redheaded woman sighed, beckoning the second twin forward.

Fred smiled and ruffled the small brunet's hair playfully. "See you on the other side," he teased before following his brother through.

Molly smiled sweetly at the three children remaining. "Alright Ron, Tyl, I know this is your first time. If you get frightened, try running at it."

The taller boy, Ron, nodded meekly. He turned to the brunet boy, looking for reassurance, but found none. Tyl had already disappeared through the barrier behind the twins.

"Excellent," Molly cheered the small boy happily. "Alright, Ron, your turn."

Ron gulped before running toward the barrier. His trolley wobbled slightly as he ran, and he squeezed his eyes shut tightly. He flinched slightly when he thought he was going to collide, and when he didn't, he opened his eyes happily.

And ran his trolley right into Tyl.

The smaller boy let out a surprised yelp as he was hit by the trolley, the momentum causing him to collide painfully with the floor.

"Oh, dear," exclaimed Molly as she and the last child – a small redheaded girl – emerged from the barrier and onto Platform 9 ¾. She ran over to Tyl, crouching down to get a good look at the brunet. "What will your father say when he hears of this?" she asked rhetorically, helping the silent boy to stand again.

"I'm alright," Tyl said quietly, rubbing his shoulder tenderly.

The twins appeared seemingly out of thin air, each wrapping an arm over the brunet's shoulders. "Don't worry, mum," they said in unison, "We'll take care of him."

"Where were you two?" Molly demanded angrily. "You could have prevented this!"

"We were helping –"

"Tyl by taking care –"

"Of his luggage," they explained. They shrugged their shoulders helplessly. "It isn't our fault if Ickle Ronniekins forgot to stop."

Molly sighed, but allowed the twins to steer Tyl toward the train. She turned to Ron next, who appeared to be on the verge of tears. "Cheer up, Ron," she commanded, pulling him into a hug. His breathing became normal again, his face less tense, and Molly released him from the hug.

"Oh, you've got some dirt on your nose," she said, scrutinizing his face. She licked her thumb and started rubbing it on the bridge of her son's nose.

"Mum, stop it," said Ron. He pulled free from Molly, his face turning red. "I guess I should go," he said hastily, rushing toward the train.

"Mum, can't I go?" Ginny asked sadly as the train whistle blew.

"Next year, Ginny," Molly said quietly, drawing her daughter close to her. The train whistle blew once more, and the Weasley matron waved her arm sadly as the Hogwarts Express began to leave, taking her sons with it.

On the train, Fred and George led Tyl into an empty compartment, smiling jovially at their friend.

"Right," Fred began, "You –"

"Wait here and we'll –"

"Go find Lee."

Tyl, used to the way the twins spoke, simply nodded in response. He sat down on the nearest seat as the twins released him and turned to leave. He sent a smile at their backs before they disappeared from the compartment. He rubbed his shoulder absently, wincing slightly at the bruise that was forming where he had been hit by Ron's trolley.

Several minutes passed in silence before the compartment door slid open. Tyl turned to face the intruder, noting with the barest surprise that the redhead who emerged was not one of the people he was expecting.

"Do you mind?" Ron asked, sitting down across from Tyl before he could answer. "All the others are full," he explained, shrugging one shoulder before leaning back in his seat.

Tyl ignored Ron, instead turning his attention out the window. He watched with mild interest as the landscape blurred by.

None too soon, the door slid open again, and Tyl turned to face the newest occupants. Unfortunately, he was once again disappointed to see that it wasn't the twins who had come to save him from their younger brother.

No, it was the blond boy from Diagon Alley. Only, this time, he wasn't alone. Flanking him were two rather large boys who appeared sort of like bodyguards.

"I heard Tyl Black is in this compartment," the boy said by way of explanation. "Is it true?"

Tyl raised an eyebrow at the boy. "What's so special about him?" he questioned curiously.

The boy stared at Tyl disbelievingly. "What do you mean? He's the heir of the Black family," he said, as if that was reason enough to admire someone.

Tyl found himself inclined to agree.

Ron chose this moment to make himself known. "So you want to meet him just because he's rich?"

The blond rounded on the youngest Weasley boy. "Let me guess," he drawled, "Red hair, hand-me-down clothes... you must be a Weasley."

"Must he?" Tyl asked as he cocked an eyebrow.

"Anything from the trolley dears?" a woman questioned briefly from the corridor. When everyone muttered a negative – Ron held up a wrapped sandwich – the woman dimpled a smile at them and slid the compartment door shut.

"My father's told me all about your family," the blond continued.

"Let me guess," Fred mocked, slinging an arm over the blond's shoulders.

"Pale hair," George continued, appearing beside his brother.

"Pointy face –"

"And a better-than-you attitude."

"You must be a _Malfoy_," they finished in unison, slipping around the blond and sitting on either side of Tyl. A third boy, a black wizard sporting dreadlocks, entered behind the twins and sat beside Ron. He appeared completely at ease among the chaos of the compartment; amused even.

The blond – Malfoy – looked disgruntled as he stared down the twins. "Draco Malfoy," he introduced slowly.

Ron snorted.

"Amused, Weasley?" Malfoy questioned harshly.

Tyl sighed. "Alright, I think this will suffice," he said from between the twins.

Malfoy's eyes widened as he spotted the brunet. "You're Tyl Black, aren't you?" he demanded, moving closer to inspect the smaller boy. "You know," he drawled, "You will find that some families are better to associate with than others. I can help you there."

Tyl leaned back in his seat, lounging comfortably. "Thank you for the advice," he said honestly, "But I think I'm capable of finding friends for myself." He looked pointedly at the two bodyguards Malfoy kept as friends.

Malfoy's eyes widened. "I – I didn't mean – but –" He stopped, his face turning red, before he cleared his throat. "I didn't introduce you," he said, gesturing to the two boys beside him. "This is Crabbe and Goyle," he said, changing the subject abruptly to hide his embarrassment.

Tyl raised an eyebrow. "Pleasure, I'm sure," he said lazily, opting to go along with the change in subject.

"Well," Fred interjected, "I think –"

"This place is getting –"

"A bit crowded."

"Perhaps it's time you found your own compartment," they suggested, each wrapping an arm over the brunet wizard's shoulders.

Malfoy sneered. "I suppose I'll be seeing you around, then," he said, looking at Tyl with a mix of annoyance and disappointment. He turned around and left the compartment, Crabbe and Goyle at his heels.

Ron let out a big whoosh of air. "I thought he'd never leave," he lamented, but was largely ignored.

"Anyways," Fred said, squeezing Tyl's shoulders with his arm, "Tyl –"

"We would like you to meet –"

"Lee Jordan."

"He's a Gryffindor," George explained, gesturing widely to the black boy. "We met him –"

"In Transfiguration class," Lee interrupted, leaning forward and holding a hand out to Tyl. "It's nice to meet you at last."

Tyl's lips twitched into a smile as he leaned forward – the twins' arms still holding onto him – and took Lee's hand in his own. "It truly is a pleasure," he said, humour shining in his eyes.

Just then, the door to the compartment slid open once more, and a girl with bushy hair entered.

"Have any of you seen a toad?" the girl asked in a bossy voice. Tyl noticed distantly that her two front teeth were a bit larger than they should have been, but wisely refrained from mentioning it. "Neville's lost his."

"How do you lose a toad?" Ron asked.

The girl ignored him. "Well, if you see him, let me –" she froze when her eyes rested on Tyl, who had settled back in his seat. "Are you Tyl Black?" she asked, eyes wide.

The dark-haired wizard blinked. "Yes," he said. He wasn't quite sure what was so special about being Tyl Black today, but everyone else seemed to. "Why?"

"You're famous," she stated, as if it was obvious. "I mean, you're _Tyl Black,_ heir to the Black family."

"Yeah, so?" said Ron.

Tyl couldn't help but be a little confused. Yes, his family was important, but no one had gawked at him like this when he'd been at Hogwarts visiting his Aunt Andromeda.

The girl rolled her eyes in exasperation. "The Black family is one of the oldest and most noble houses in the Wizarding World," she explained. "They're practically royalty."

"Royalty?" questioned Ron, eyes wide as he stared at Tyl.

"Well," said Fred, "Look at –"

"Him," continued George. "That messy dark hair –"

"Those emerald-cut eyes –"

"His noble attitude –"

"You shouldn't be surprised," they finished together, deadpan expressions on their face.

"He can't be famous!" Ron exclaimed crossly. "He's _Tyl_."

Tyl raised an eyebrow at the redhead, but otherwise ignored the boy. Instead, he turned to the bushy-haired girl. "What's your name?" he questioned.

"Oh, how rude of me," said the girl. "I'm Hermione Granger."

"Muggleborn?" asked Lee.

Hermione blinked. "How did you know?"

Lee chuckled. "Your name," he said simply, a grin splitting his face.

Hermione blushed furiously as her gaze fell to her shoes. "Anyways," she mumbled, "If you see a toad, let me know." She turned around quickly and dashed out of the compartment. "Oh," she called from the corridor, "You should get changed into your uniforms soon. I expect we'll be arriving shortly."

Ron was still staring at Tyl. "You're famous?" he asked, disbelief colouring his tone.

Tyl shrugged. "Not famous so much as well-known," he confessed, his eyebrows knitted together. What difference did it make? He'd known Ron for years; they'd disliked each other for years. Now Ron finds out that Tyl is an important member of society, and suddenly they're best friends?

Ron would have to learn that things don't work out that way.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Ron accused, his face turning red.

"You shouldn't have had to be told," the twins chorused.

Ron pouted, but remained silent.

Tyl peered around George and out the window. It was getting pretty dark out, he noticed, and the train seemed to be slowing down. He nodded to no one in particular and untangled himself from the twins' arms, getting his uniform out and changing into it. The other occupants of the compartment followed suit, and before they knew it a voice was speaking over the intercom. "We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes' time," it boomed, "Please leave your luggage on the train; it will be taken to the school separately."

"You've got a bit of dirt on your nose," Fred said, peering down at Ron.

"Let me get that off for you," George continued, licking his thumb mockingly. Ron's face flushed a deep crimson as he tried to run around the twins. The two elder Weasleys let him go, identical grins plastered on their faces.

Tyl smiled at the twins' antics before he joined the crowd of children forming outside of the compartment. The others joined him, and soon the train slowed to a stop. The students pushed and shoved their way out of the train and onto a dark platform, chatting into the night.

A lamp flashed over the heads of the students, and soon a booming voice spoke out. "Firs' years over here. Firs' years," the man called, towering over the crowd. "Firs' years follow me." The man was bigger than anyone Tyl had ever seen – a half giant, probably – and the small wizard recognized his hairy face as Hagrid, Hogwarts' groundkeeper. He and Ron moved over to join the growing crowd of first years by the man as he said, "Any more firs' years? No? Then mind yer step, an' follow me!"

The concession moved down a narrow path, slipping and stumbling slightly as they moved their way down what seemed to be a steep hill. On either side of them was an utter darkness which was probably the result of trees. One boy could be heard sniffing quietly as they walked.

"Yeh'll get yet firs' sight o' Hogwarts in jus' a sec," said Hagrid as they rounded a bend.

Soon enough, Hogwarts loomed into sight, and the first years let out a collective, "Ooooh," as they saw it.

They stopped at the edge of a great black lake, and in the distance a giant castle could be seen in the distance, perched on top of a mountain. Its windows shone welcomingly into the dark night.

"Only four to a boat," Hagrid told them, "No more'n that." He pointed to a fleet of small boats sitting on the water's edge. Tyl got into a boat, and was quickly followed by Ron, Hermione, and – surprisingly – Malfoy.

Hagrid, who had a boat to himself, boomed, "Everyone in? Right then – FORWARD!"

The boats lurched forward in the lake and then began to move gracefully toward the castle. The students were silent in their awe of the school. The quiet was broken only when Hagrid shouted, "Heads down!" The children ducked quickly as they reached the cliff face, and the boats carried them through a curtain of ivy. They were taken through a small tunnel, and soon were deposited at what appeared to be a harbour. They clambered out of their boats and onto the stones.

Hagrid, who was checking the boats behind the kids, shouted, "Whose toad is this?"

"Trevor!" a chubby boy shouted, running over to the half-giant. Tyl noted that he was the boy who was sniffing earlier. He assumed it was Neville Longbottom, who apparently hadn't found his toad on the train.

"Right then, le's go," Hagrid said, and led them over the rocks through a small passageway. They came out onto the grass in the shadow of the school, and several first years exclaimed as they saw the enormity of Hogwarts. Hagrid checked them over one last time before turning to the giant front door and knocking three times.

The large oak door opened almost immediately, a tall figure stepping forward from the light. Emerald robes shimmered as the light hit them. The figure itself was difficult to make out; the glow creating a silhouette around the person.

The voice, however, was unmistakable.

"Welcome to Hogwarts."

The silhouette moved out of the light, revealing woman with dark hair pulled back from a stern face. Tyl immediately recognized her as his Aunt Minnie, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

"Firs' years, Professor McGonagall," boomed Hagrid as he stepped to the side.

"Thank you, Hagrid," said Aunt Minnie. She pushed the front door open, revealing a room so large you could have fit a house inside of it. "I'll take them from here," she declared, gesturing for the first years to enter.

The first years gathered into the front hall, most of them whispering amongst each other in awe of the room before them. There were torches lining the walls and the ceiling was too high to see clearly; in front of them a large marble staircase led the way to the upper floors of the school. To their right, the roar of hundreds of students could be heard. However, instead of joining the students in the Great Hall, Aunt Minnie ushered the first years into a smaller room off to the side.

The children filed in, standing closer together than was typically comfortable, and waited for the witch before them to speak.

"The start-of-term banquet will commence shortly," she began, "but first, you must be sorted." She paused, looking over every student in the room significantly. "The Sorting ceremony is incredibly important, as while you are with us in Hogwarts, your House will become a sort of family for you. You will learn together, live together, and grow up together.

"There are four houses in Hogwarts: Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. You will find that each house is known for specific qualities; there is great history behind all four Houses, and many great witches and wizards have come from them. Any achievements will earn points for your houses, while follies will cost them. When the year closes, the house with the most points wins the house cup. I sincerely hope that you become a tribute to whichever house you are sorted into.

"There ceremony will be held in a few minutes in the Great Hall, in front of the rest of the school. It would be wise if you made yourselves presentable," she finished, eyeing Ron with a raised eyebrow. He quickly rubbed his nose in an attempt to remove the dirt.

"I will return here when we are ready to sort you," Aunt Minnie said, turning from the students and leaving the room.

The room became near-silent as the first years waited for the witch to return. Every so often a student shifted nervously. The silence was only broken when a congregation of ghosts flew through the room, welcoming the newest additions to the school.

Before anyone had the time to question the presence of ghosts in the school, however, the door to the Great Hall opened ominously.

"The ceremony is ready to begin," Aunt Minnie said, reappearing through the door. "Form an orderly line," she demanded. Once her order had been carried out, she said, "Follow me," and led the first years through the door and across the flagstone, into the Great Hall.

The room was, to say the very least, grand. There were four long tables seating the students, and a fifth table that sat the staff. Floating over the heads of the witches and wizards were innumerable lit candles. The ceiling, which was far above their heads, was enchanted to reflect the sky above them. As they walked, many first years gazed up at the ceiling in marvel.

Tyl supposed it was something you just got used to.

Aunt Minnie took the line of students through the hall and to the front of the room. She stopped when they were standing before the students in the hall, their backs to the staff table.

Aunt Minnie's green robes swished as she placed a four-legged stool in front of them, resting an old, patched hat on top of it.

The occupants of the hall waited in silence as a tear in the hat opened up and it began to sing:

'_I may seem torn and old,_

_And my shape is rough and patched,_

_But you'd never find a hat so bold_

_To think the plot I've hatched._

_Your search may take you far and wide,_

_You'll find hats tall and small,_

_Place me on your head, give me a try;_

_You'll see I'm the greatest of them all._

_There's no mind I can't divine,_

_No brain that I can't pick;_

_The Hogwarts sorting job is mine_

_And I know just the trick._

_You may belong to Gryffindor,_

_The noble, just and pure,_

_With bravery flowing free,_

_Gryffindors are sure._

_Maybe you're a Hufflepuff,_

_With loyalty to spare,_

_They're honest, kind, and sure to be_

_The ones who always care._

_Perhaps Ravenclaw's where you belong,_

_With a mind no others match,_

_Your genius is unfounded,_

_Your brain is quite the catch._

_And let's not forget dear Slytherin,_

_A cunning House indeed,_

_Their wit so sharp, their tricks so sure,_

_They'll win by any mean._

_So if you're ready, try me on,_

_We'll see where you belong,_

_Ready or not, here I come,_

_We've reached the end of my song.'_

The hat's mouth closed, and the hall burst into applause. The hat bowed to the four tables quickly before falling still once more.

Aunt Minnie moved forward, holding a roll of parchment in her hands. "When I call your name," she said, addressing the first years, "You will place The Sorting Hat on your head and sit on the stool." She paused, waiting to make sure the new students were paying attention to her, before she said, "Abbott, Hannah."

A small girl stepped forward nervously, her blonde pigtails flapping over her face as she stumbled toward the stool. She placed the hat on her head and sat down. There was a moment's pause before the hat shouted, "HUFFLEPUFF!"

The hall burst into applause once more, the loudest cheers coming from the table on the right. Hannah pulled the hat from her head, setting it on the stool, before joining the Hufflepuffs, a large grin splitting her face.

"Black, Tyl," Aunt Minnie said, a gleam in her eyes as she watched her surrogate nephew step forward.

Tyl moved forward, his only thought _Ravenclaw_, as he placed the hat on his head. He didn't even get a chance to sit down before his wishes came true.

"RAVENCLAW!" the hat shouted to the hall, and Tyl was all smiles as he went to join his new house at their table. He didn't hear the thunderous applause as the Weasley twins moved apart to allow space for their friend.

"We knew you –"

"Had it in you," they said, identical grins on their faces as they each wrapped an arm around the first year.

Tyl was soon joined by Terry Boot, a small boy with brown hair and dark eyes, and Mandy Brocklehurst, a tall girl with blue eyes and dark-blonde hair. The table became fuller still with the additions of Michael Corner, Stephen Cornfoot, and Kevin Entwhistle.

Anthony Goldstein, who Tyl had pegged as a Ravenclaw, was sorted into Gryffindor.

What really surprised the Black heir, however, was when Hermione Granger didn't join his house. He had expected that she, of all people, would have been a Ravenclaw – she certainly seemed keen to know things – but the hat put her with Gryffindor instead.

Su Li joined the Ravenclaws before Malfoy was sorted into Slytherin – no surprise there – and a set of twins was split up; Parvati Patil moving toward the Gryffindor table and Padma sitting beside Su. Lisa Turpin was the last to be sorted into Ravenclaw, and she was welcomed as surely as the other first years were.

The sorting continued on, and Ron was placed in Gryffindor – Percy had said, "Excellent, Ronald. Well done." – and soon there was no one left to sort. The Hat and stool were removed from the front of the room, and Tyl's Grandfather Albus stood from his seat. The hall fell silent, the students waiting for their headmaster to speak.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," he said, "Before you settle down to eat, I have a few words I would like to say. And they are: Fizz! Anomalous! Blubber! Tweet!

"Thank you." He sat down again, and food appeared on the tables. The students cheered and applauded, and soon everyone was dining merrily.

Tyl took the time to introduce himself to his new housemates. He found that for the most part they were really nice, if a bit chatty. Not that he wasn't used to following a conversation – his best friends were the Weasley twins, after all.

The green-eyed wizard tucked into his food, wholeheartedly enjoying his meal. As he was eating, he observed the teachers, noting a new presence at the staff table – although he was sure he'd seen him before.

The new teacher had dark hair and eyes; along with a nervous air about him. He seemed to be searching for someone among the students, but without much luck. His hands wrung together slightly as his eyes shifted from table to table.

"Who is that?" Tyl asked as he turned back to his plate.

"Who?" questioned Fred.

"The nervous one?" continued George.

"It's Professor –"

"Quirrell. He used to be –"

"The Muggle Studies –"

"Professor until a few years back –"

"Then he travelled around –"

"Then came back." George cocked his head to the side. "But now –"

"He teaches Defence."

Tyl nodded at the twins, a slight frown pulling at his lips. Terry, however, was staring at Tyl, awestruck.

"You _understood_ that?" he demanded, eyes wide.

Tyl turned to him. "Of course," he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "How could you not?"

Terry opened his mouth to reply, but then the last of the pudding disappeared and Tyl's grandfather stood once more.

"Now that you are all filled," he said, his eyes twinkling behind half-moon glasses, "I have a few things to say.

"First years should note that the Forbidden Forest is, of course, forbidden to all students," he said, eyeing the Weasley twins in particular – they smiled brightly back at him, identical glints in their eyes.

"Mr. Filch, the caretaker, has also asked me to inform you that there is to be no magic performed in the corridors between classes.

"Finally, I must inform you that Quidditch trials will be held throughout the second week of the term. Any and all interested in playing for their house team would do well to remember this, and contact Madam Hooch." Grandfather Albus smiled benignly, his blue eyes trailing over the faces of his students.

"And now, before we head off to bed, we will sing our school song. Pick your favourite tune, and off we go."

And they did. It was probably the... _silliest_ song Tyl had ever heard. His grandfather had flicked his wand, a golden ribbon flying out of the tip, and had conducted the song as the entire population of Hogwarts sang at different tempos. The Weasley twins had started singing the words to a funeral march, and despite his best efforts not to sing along, Tyl ultimately found himself humouring his two best friends.

The three Ravenclaws finished well after everyone else had gone silent, Albus directing them the entire way. When they had sung their last note, Fred and George squished Tyl between them as they smiled jovially at the rest of the school.

Albus clapped the loudest when the song ended, and seemed particularly proud as he watched the three socialize. He had thought the Weasley twins were energetic before, but with Tyl... he was like a piece that they didn't know they were missing until he was back. He wasn't sure what made the three of them such a good combination. Perhaps he was just being sentimental, but despite how _different_ Tyl was from the twins – he was much quieter, for example – he seemed to make them work. Together, they looked so much _happier_ than they had in previous years.

He didn't know if that was necessarily a good thing. Where the twins were, there trouble would also be.

But Albus supposed a little havoc every once in a while would lighten the mood caused by the war.

"Ah, music," he mused once the applause had died down, "One of the greatest forms of magic there is. Now it's time for bed. Pip pip."

The Ravenclaw first years followed one of the prefects as he led them through the school. The prefect took them up to the fifth floor and up a winding spiral staircase. When they reached a landing, the prefect turned to them.

"Listen up," he said in a tone that reminded Tyl of Hermione. "Getting into Ravenclaw is different than getting into other common rooms. Instead of the conventional password, you are expected to be able to answer a riddle. If you are unable to get it, you will have to wait outside until someone lets you in." He paused, looking significantly at the first years.

After a moment passed, he nodded, turning his back on the younger students. To the surprise of the first years, the bronze knocker came to life and asked a question:

'_I have streets but no pavement._

_I have cities but no buildings._

_I have forests yet no trees._

_I have rivers yet no water._

_What am I?_'

The first years were silent, not used to having to answer a riddle to go to bed – never mind the fact that they were collectively exhausted from such a long day. With a slight sigh, the prefect answered the riddle himself. "A map," he said with a dignified air.

"Excellent, well done," the knocker congratulated the prefect, and the door swung open, allowing the students to file into their common room.

The Ravenclaw common room was decorated in their house colours – blue and bronze – with a midnight-blue rug dotted with stars laid out on the middle of the floor. The room was a wide sphere, with a domed ceiling covered in a smattering of celestial bodies. The windows were grand arches, and Tyl was sure they had a spectacular view. Bookcases, tables and chairs were scattered throughout the room, and a white marble statue of Rowena Ravenclaw stood beside a second door.

The prefect led them to the door, directing the first years to their dormitories before bidding them good night.

Tyl found their dorm room at last – five four-poster beds with midnight-blue curtains – and quickly found his bed. Their trunks had already been brought up; one sitting at the foot of each bed.

Too tired to dawdle, Tyl changed into his pyjamas and climbed into bed, pulling the thick curtains closed.

He was asleep almost before his head hit the pillow.

* * *

**A/N: Has anyone seen _A Very Potter Musical_ or _A VeryPotter Sequel_? If not, I highly recommend go watching them; I don't think I've laughed so hard.**

**Anyways, a lot of the scenes are similar to the first few chapters of the book, but... can't be helped, I suppose. The story will pick up a bit more in the future. So, please review, tell me what you like, dislike, love, hate... you know the drill ;)**


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